Every morning like clockwork you would wake up to a soft kiss upon the tip of your nose. Before shortly being truly awake at the noise of your three month old baby whining— almost always for food.

Luciano, the prince of the summer court, had married you, once a servant girl, despite his fathers disdain. He moved you with every inch of his tattered heart.

You moved out of his fathers Ivory palace into a more appropriately sized manor. It was mostly marble, as were most buildings in the summer court. Plenty of staff worked within the manor and you had an adjoining stables.

It truly was the perfect place to raise your little one.

Juno, your little boy, he is now three months old. Dark red curls and blue eyes, a soft pouty mouth and a straight nose.